


Courtesy of being human

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic, Aromantic Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Aromantic Sherlock Holmes, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Dark Sherlock Holmes, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Jim Has Issues, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Possessive Sherlock, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock-centric, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty are similar, identical some would even say, except for one, tiny little detail : Jim loves Sherlock and Sherlock doesn't love him back, at least not in the way Jim yearns to be loved.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	Courtesy of being human

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? I'm not sure either but I hope y'all will like it!

They met after that night in the pool, considering what had happened, it took a ridiculously short time, only a few weeks, and they met. 

It was just the two of them this time, no John wearing a parka to hide Semtex, no snipers keeping their red lasers glued on the detective, just Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty facing each other in a posh hotel from the center of London. 

Strangely enough, it was the detective who contacted the other, noting the number given by the criminal in his phone before sending the text. 

_ -The game is between us, involving John was of bad taste-SH _

The answer had been almost immediate. 

- _ Oh, you kept my number? I'm honoured! And I just wanted to have your complete attention darling, couldn't have you go back to your pet in the middle of our meeting-J _

SH and J. 

Sherlock had wondered for an instant why the other signed only with one letter but he had shrugged off the question to answer, thanking the fact that John was away to fetch groceries. 

It might have been annoying to explain while he was typing this fast, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen. 

- _ I wouldn't have left in the middle of our chat, who do you take me for? But bringing John only diverted my attention, I couldn't completely focus on you knowing he might get hurt-SH _

_ -Your own well-being didn't concern you at all? And aww, you're so cute, apologizing for not giving me all of your attention! I don't know if I can forgive you though, your actions really broke my heart… but maybe I would be willing to forget that little incident if we chatted again, this time without any pesky pet? -J _

The detective had hesitated, staring at the message for a few minutes before hesitantly writing his answer, his acceptance. 

It had felt like he was throwing himself in the wolf's mouth, into the spider's web, but John wasn't the only one addicted to adrenaline. 

_ -Only if you don't bring any "pet" either-SH _

If his acceptance hadn't been clear before, his next message really couldn't be misinterpreted. 

- _ Where and when? -SH  _

The three words had taunted him from their place on the phone, but Sherlock hadn't regretted them, his eyes fixated on the screen as he waited for Moriarty's next words. 

- _ Room 221, Mandarin Oriental, 10pm. Don't make daddy wait-J _

If the previous answers had been quick, this one had been almost instantaneous. 

The detective hadn't bothered answering and had just gone back to his experiment on raw egg until John came back, acting like he was focused on the colour of the yolk and not his upcoming night, having completely forgotten what he was trying to observe in the first place. 

"I need to check on some of the members of my network. " he had simply said before storming out, not leaving his roomate enough time to follow him or propose to accompany him. 

The cab ride had been excruciatingly long and yet horribly fast, the whole time passing in a blur until he was in the hotel hall, until he was slowly making his way up the stairs, until he was  _ there.  _

Until the only thing separating him from the criminal was a wooden door. 

Sherlock did not bother knocking, knowing that Moriarty was probably already aware of his presence, and simply entered the room, his eyes immediately falling on the man clad in a sleek suit currently looking out of the window. 

Jim slowly turned to face him, the name falling of his lips almost involuntarily, almost reverently, and yet neither. 

"Sherlock. "

There was some surprise mixed with his voice,  _ 'Sherlock, you came, '  _ it said, and the detective answered in kind. 

"Moriarty. " 

It felt wrong somehow, impersonal, the two men could feel it like they could have heard a false note in an otherwise perfect concerto. 

"James. " he corrected himself, only for the criminal to shake his head, lick his lips. 

"Jim. "

_ Jim.  _

Yes, that was better. 

The other was grinning now, his dark eyes shining in that self-satisfied way of his as he stepped forwards, invading his private space, gazing up at the detective. 

"Sherlock. " he repeated, breathier, slower, the broken syllables rolling off his tongue. 

The criminal practically vibrated as he pressed his lips on Sherlock's, his pulse beating haphazardly against the other's fingers, his hands grasping the fabric of the detective's shirt and starting to fumble with the buttons. 

It wasn't unexpected, they had both felt the instantaneous bond between them when they had met in the pool, that likeness they shared linking them together, yet they apparently were glaringly different when it came to one, very important point. 

Jim actually seemed to  _ want  _ him, and not just for his mind-

Sherlock didn't react to the abuse of his mouth at first, he stayed still, completely immobile even as Jim left shuddering kisses along his jaw, but the feeling of the warm fingers against his chest brought him back. 

"Stop. " he simply said softly, and the other paused, heat radiating from the hand previously taking off the shirt. 

"What? " 

The question was half choked, almost inaudible, but Sherlock heard it none the same. 

"I can't. "

Sex just wasn't something he could even imagine partaking in, not ever, not with anyone, even someone as unique as Jim, it wasn't quite disgust, it wasn't quite indifference, but something right in the middle, something that just felt  _ wrong  _ every time he was touched. 

"I'm sorry. " Sherlock said softly. 

The smaller man shivered, hiding his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, teeth just a breath away from his throat. He stayed silent, unbearably silent, pushing the two of them in the King sized bed and then stilling completely in the same position, half draped on the detective, hot air leaving his mouth and meeting the soft skin of the detective's throat. 

For a second, Sherlock thought Jim would tear his trachea out with his teeth and leave him to bleed out in the hotel room, but the other continued to shudder ever so slightly, as if barely restraining himself, the bulge in his pant making his desire painfully clear. 

"I'm sorry. " the detective repeated, and this time it elicited a half muffled groan. 

"Don't be. "

_ 'I'm the one who should be. '  _ he meant, and Sherlock shook his head even though he knew the criminal wouldn't be able to see it. 

"I really am. " 

And he was because he knew he would never be able to give Jim what he needed. 

  
  


\--------

They stayed in the same position for hours, the raw, unbidden energy animating the criminal somehow staying the same even as they laid together, staying barely beneath his diaphanous skin as his breath slowly evened out. 

Moriarty -  _ Jim -  _ was next to him, half on top of him, asleep, yet Sherlock made no move to leave, didn't try to take out his phone and call John or his brother, didn't try to stab the man with the first object he could grab, simply staying immobile, silent, observing the sleeping face of the most dangerous criminal mind the world had ever seen. 

It was nice in a way, nicer than anything he had ever experienced, like being reunited with a part of him torn away a long time ago. 

It was all he had ever wanted or needed. 

Jim didn't speak, but Sherlock knew though, knew that his asexuality, his aromantism didn't extend to his other half, he could practically feel the restlessness and that thing akin to anguish curled in his guts, yet he didn't speak, staying silent against him. 

Was it bad to tear apart the criminal like that when their arrangement would obviously destroy him in the long run? Probably. 

Could he stop, could he move away from the man, tell Jim he didn't want him to be there and walk away? No. 

  
  


\--------

Somehow it happened again and again, they met almost every week, once John was on a date and Jim had some freetime, the criminal would send him an address right at the moment the doctor left, sometimes direct, sometimes cryptic, a riddle Sherlock was forced to solve, and always, they would meet, just the two of them. 

The first meetings were held in hotel rooms, the door closed and locked as they talked, exchanging clever quips and meaningful comments, before curling on the bed, limbs tangled until there was no telling where one consultant ended and where the other began. 

Jim didn't make any advances after the initial ones, none overly sexual in nature at least, he still flirted - that seemed to be wired deep inside the man - he still insisted on cuddling like a glorified cat, but the only thing he did that made Sherlock slightly uncomfortable was kiss him goodbye, quickly pressing their lips together before twirling on his heels with a laugh like his whole being hadn't tasted of desperation.

The detective knew very well that Jim wanted him in ways  _ he  _ had never wanted anybody, but the strange little thing they had still somehow worked. 

After a while, after what seemed to be hundreds of meetings and thousands of texts, the criminal invited him on a date. 

It wasn't an hotel, or even a restaurant like they had chosen a few times, no, it was a crumbling tower in a forest not too far from London where half destroyed stairs gave access to a small platform, a small portal to the stars. 

Jim had been waiting for him at the bottom of the ruins, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the excitement, knowing Sherlock would find the gps coordinates he had coded into his last text, and of course he did, he arrived just as the time the other had indicated. 

The criminal had taken his hand, childish excitement lighting his features from the inside until he looked more like a boy than a man, seeming painfully young and carefree under the stars. 

The criminal had taken his hand and he had lead the way, carefully climbing the stairs, every step purposeful and calculated, until they were both at the summit, both bathed by the cosmos. 

They both lied down on the pillows and the cover Jim must have brought earlier, the man interwining their clothed limbs and putting his head on Sherlock's chest before looking upwards, losing himself in the stars 

For once, his attention wasn't completely focused on the detective, he wasn't engrossed in his every reaction, cataloguing all of his motions, and wasn't that sad? 

The only thing that took his attention from Sherlock was the infinity of the night and the numbers etched between the galaxies, the patterns only he could see. 

The only thing taking his mind away from the fact that he would never have the other like he yearned to was another thing he would never be able to fully own, something even his intellect failed to completely comprehend. 

Sherlock felt tragedy hanging in the air, tasted its bittersweet aroma as Jim shuddered on his chest, but he ignored it for now, pushed it away in some black hole somewhere and just enjoyed infinity. 

\--------

  
  


Sometimes, Jim came with veiled, unseeing eyes, lost in his own world of patterns and numbers, trying, desperately trying, to get his feet back on reality. 

He wouldn't even talk when that happened, Sherlock immediately knew he wasn't himself when he didn't hear the criminal's playful greeting and so he prepared himself for what would happen next, for the forceful kisses, for the painfully tight grip, for the 'make it  _ quiet'  _ repeated over and over again against his skin. 

He never hurt him though, Sherlock wasn't sure what his presence did to Jim, whether it made him even more desperate - too desperate to even continue breathing - or if it calmed him, but in the end, the other would just lay on his chest, eyes closed tightly to shield him from the world. 

"I'm sorry. " He would say, he would repeat again and again until the detective told him to stop,  _ I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry  _ and those were the only times Jim ever apologised, the only moments where he looked like he really meant it at least, seeming so much younger somehow, a child instead of the most dangerous criminal mind in the world. 

Sherlock would close his arms around the smaller man, silent, wishing he could kiss Jim and mean it.

"I'm sorry. " the man would repeat again as he was about to leave and the detective would smile because that was the least he could do. 

"It's alright. " 

It wasn't, it never would be, Jim was sick, Sherlock was probably as well according to ordinary people's standards, so it wasn't, but maybe repeating it would make it so. 

They would just stay together, the criminal trying to forget the infinite patterns he saw everywhere, the numbers laced with his very being, they would lay tangled on a bed or on the ground when they didn't have the former, limbs mixed until Jim was able to pull himself together, pull a paper thin veil over his eyes to hide the equations and restore his sanity. 

"See you next week. " Sherlock would always say. 

Sometimes they didn't even hold a day but it was their way to say goodbye. 

Jim would smile, more and more of his sanity seeping out of the broken mask everytime. 

"See you. "

  
  


\----------

  
  


It didn't take Sherlock long to notice Jim had taken a lover, which meant that he had seen the criminal stride inside Baker Street with a spring to his steps, a grin on his face and the way he had breathed out his  _ 'hi darling'  _ had been enough. 

It wasn't like the man was trying to hide it though, they both knew that Jim was the only one able to fool the consulting detective so he could have probably concealed it for a while if he had wanted to, but he hadn't, he hadn't simply because he had no reason to.

Sherlock wasn't jealous, as much as Jim wished he would be, he wasn't jealous just like he just wasn't his lover, no matter what the criminal called their relationship. 

"Who is he? " he had simply asked, curious, and the other had licked his lips in answer, taking off his suit jacket, tie and shirt to reveal his pale chest covered in scratch marks and bites. 

"Guess. " he had purred, letting himself fall on Sherlock's chair. 

The detective sat down, facing Jim who was now peering at him from beneath his lowered eyelashes, slightly shivering as the cold leather seeped the warmth out of his skin, and looked. 

Immediately, he began to mentally note things, the way finger imprints were wrapped around the criminal's neck, deep enough to have choked him but just low enough to be hidden with a normal dress shirt, how the nails had sinked into the skin at some places while only grazing it at others 

"So? "

Sherlock immediately started speaking, his tongue moving almost without his consent, spewing the information he had deduced.

"He's tall, muscular, exmilitary and a sniper if the fingers imprints can be trusted, he's dominant but he works below you- " _ of course he did _ "so he left marks while still making sure they could be hidden. " a pause, a silence laced with hesitation, then- "You trust him.

Jim grinned that strange smile of his, showing sharp teeth and the pink tongue passing over them.

"Good, good. " he purred, and Sherlock was almost sure he saw some after image of the sniper's blood on Jim's lips. "His name is Sebastian Moran, ex military sniper, he's my own little pet tiger you see, I found myself a John! Though mine is a lot more useful and smart."

The detective said nothing at the quip against his friend, knowing the doctor would always be a sore subject for the other. 

Jim didn't think Sherlock loved John, unlike more people than he could be bothered to count, so he couldn't be ressenting the man for stealing Sherlock away...

"Do you love him? "

Jim paused, seemingly taken aback by the question, but the next second he was out of his chair and on Sherlock's lap, pressing his bare chest on the detective's clothed front.

"You wish I did, don't you? " 

_ Yes.  _

The criminal smiled, slightly sad, slightly empty, the kind of smile that was somehow pitying and pitiful at the same time. 

_ That would have been so much easier right?  _

"I don't. " he simply answered "I can't. " he added, the cold allying itself to the manic energy usually animating Jim to make him shudder ever so slightly as he hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"I can't. " he repeated, because some words were just made to come in pairs, like detective and criminal or love and hatred-

_ The fall and the landing.  _

\----------

  
  


When his case brought John and he in Baskerville, Sherlock experienced the gas, saw his worst fear and tried to hide the terror coursing through his veins. 

"What did you see? " John asked once they were safely back in Baker Street, curious eyes fixed on the detective. 

"Moriarty. " he only said, and the ex-army doctor nodded as if he understood. 

'Moriarty. ' he only said, because it was so much easier to imply that he was scared of his deadly nemesis than to admit to what he had really seen, the glazed over eyes, the parted lips, the  _ 'make it quiet'  _ tumbling out again and again. 

'Moriarty. ' he only said, and with that simple name, the case was closed. 

Jim was a bit more curious, insistent with his questions, but Sherlock ultimately said ' _ you you you, it's always you. '  _ and the criminal gave that small shudder of his before pressing his body as close to the other as he could, craving the contact like a moth yearned for the fire. 

Still, when he close his eyes he could still see him the man, the genius, falling apart in front of him, barely holding on the remains of his shattered sanity. 

Deep inside, he knew that Jim had only found himself a lover to take his mind away from Sherlock's coldness, knew that everything would be alright if he could just return the feelings, knew that he would be able to stop the all encompassing numbers with a single kiss, but he couldn't. 

He simply couldn't. 

But would he be able to watch Jim fall? 

\----------

  
  


Their little chats, following a script they both instinctively know without ever reading it, felt like dancing. 

Not like the waltzes he had been taught as a child, that would have been too easy -  _ easy peasy- _ , but like that one time Jim had attempted to teach him tango, being led around, dancing to a tune he couldn't recognise, moving and twirling under the other's hands while trying to vaguely understand the steps. 

Not much made sense and the criminal always seemed to know more than he did, but it was beautiful and mesmerizing nonetheless, a play represented in front of an invisible audience. 

"I owe you a fall Sherlock, I… Owe… You. " Jim said, and it was like he was dipping with a rose held beneath his clenched teeth. 

He left an apple, bitten and carved, like cats left dead birds and mangled mouses. 

_ 'I… O… U' _

\-----------

"Sherlock Holmes. " breathy, reverent, a twisted repetition of that time in the hotel room. 

_ Moriarty.  _

_ James.  _

_ Jim.  _

Sherlock knew what would happen as soon as his hand closed around Jim's. 

He should have known before that even, known the instant he had opened the door of the rooftop and seen the other's pale face and empty eyes, known when the criminal had stood immobile, incredibly immobile, like a statue of flesh and blood. 

Maybe a part of him had known and he had just refused to see it, but with the contact, he had been forced to face the facts, the future etched in front of them. 

The devil may hide in the details but death smiled from the stillness of Jim's hand. 

"I'm sorry. " 

The criminal smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, that placid mask still freezing his expression. 

It was eerie for a man always animated by some kind of manic energy to be this empty… he was supposed to shudder, supposed to tremble and press their lips together, supposed to cling until it made Sherlock hate him. 

The stillness was only more glaring when one compared it with his usual behaviour. 

"I'm sorry. " Sherlock repeated, because those words had always been made to come in pairs. 

Jim smiled again, neither sad nor happy, just peaceful, his hand warm yet already lifeless in Sherlock's own. 

This time it reached his eyes, familiar words rolling off his tongue. 

"Don't be. "

Two meetings, similar and yet so different, one marking the start of their relationship and the other signaling the moment two would become one. 

Two men had gone through the door leading reading to the roof, only one would leave, they both knew that. 

"I really am. "

It was stupid wasn't it, to repeat those words, to go along with Jim's plan, to let the criminal's hand tighten around his gun, to let him get the Beretta out of his pocket and the muzzle on his tongue-

"Stop. "

The other obeyed, surprised by the quiet command, by the way Sherlock looked away, not daring to meet his eyes. 

"Not in the mouth. Please. " he simply said, unable to bear the thought of those pink lips closing around the cold metal. 

Jim blinked, once, twice, before pointing the gun at the side of his head. 

"Better? "

He was grinning, but as far as Sherlock was concerned, he could have been already dead as well. 

His eyes were empty, dark marbles where the light refused to shine, devoid of anything except quiet peace. 

Acceptance. 

If Jim was already gone, if there was only his body, this flesh husk, keeping him grounded to this Earth, what could the detective even do? 

Sherlock pressed their foreheads together, holding the criminal by the sides of his neck, keeping him close, so close, as close as he still could. 

"You'll jump after me right? " Jim asked softly, almost apathetic, back on their shared scripts, but Sherlock couldn't care less. 

"You know I won't. You know you don't want me to. "

The criminal grinned and the detective brushed his lips against the other's, tasking chocolate, cinnamon and contentment. 

And then he knew what he had to do, the words he needed to say-

"I love you. " he lied, pressing their foreheads together. 

Jim shuddered, shock overtaking his features before it was replaced by a wide, elated grin, too bright happiness lighting his face and blinding the other, the gun slipping out of his limp fingers and landing on the concrete. 

Jim shuddered and Sherlock knew he had won. 

Sherlock knew he had won, knew that the other would stay alive, knew that everything would be alright-

And yet, this victory tasted like defeat. 

_ "I love you. "  _ he had said while knowing perfectly well that he didn't.

_ "I love you. "  _ he had lied, knowing that he never would. 

But Sherlock was human, and even if he didn't love Jim like the man yearned to be loved, some part of him knew he couldn't live without his other half… 

Because some things were just meant to come in pairs, life and death, love and hatred, falling and landing, the two men standing on that rooftop, tangled in a fateful embrace, were just another example of that principle which ruled their universe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what y'all thought about this! :)


End file.
